Like New Year's Resolutions
by thosebrooklynboys
Summary: "When everything was how it should be, he would grieve for how it was not." James loves his parents, but they're very old, you see. And the only one left to suffer the consequences of their age, was him.


James looked up, surprised, when he heard a weary sigh come from the chair across from his. He had forgotten he wasn't alone. His hands stilled on the papers he was shuffling through, the papers he wanted to simultaneously rip apart and keep forever. Gazing through fatigued eyes at the old woman, he watched her touch the silver locket around her neck, and then tiredly rub her eyes.

"Mother, go get some rest. We don't have to finish all of this today," He told her, knowing how rifling through his things affected her. The once beautiful woman smiled at him. It did not reach her eyes and it was not one of the mischievous, knowing, or affectionate smiles of his memories. James barely recognized her; she had changed from the playful mother from his childhood, suddenly and irrevocably.

"A nap does sound rather nice, actually," she stated, and James' insides twisted painfully, because she had always claimed that it was sinful to waste the day with a nap.

"Wake me in an hour or so, please, James. I want to help you with these," she said with a yawn, "It'll be nice to have this all over with. I just need to relax my eyes for a bit," she stood up, slowly. James had never minded growing up, but he had much older parents than most kids had. He wished he had been more prepared for that.

As she passed him, she cupped his cheek with her wrinkled, soft hand and kissed the top of his messy-haired head. With another sharp yank in his stomach, James noted how she didn't try to make it lay flat, which she had been doing unwaveringly for seventeen years – of course, she knew it never would, but she never stopped trying.

Dorea murmured how proud she was of him and James felt his throat constrict. That was the woman who he remembered. The woman with the voice like honey, who would cup his face, or tickle his jaw and tell him how happy he made her. She was already in the next room when he managed to fight past the lump and grit out, "Sleep well, Mum."

She turned back, her legs posed elegantly and the hand that her wedding band resided on rested gently on the doorframe. She was graceful even in her old age and grief, and that made James hitch a smile, because she was really in there, buried under a layer of sadness. Her other hand reached up the touch the locket sadly, again, but her voice was cheerier than it had been in almost two weeks when she declared, "Oh, I believe I will. You see, I have a funny little feeling that I'll dream of your father."

Then she's gone and James was left alone in his father's study with his father's papers and his father's scent and it took all of James's willpower to compose himself. He swore he would not cry. Not yet. Not until everything was sorted through. Not until he could simply sit with Lily and not feel guilty that his mother was without the person she loved. Not until he could toss around a joke or two with Sirius. When he could do that, he would sit down next to his mother and cry. Right just then, however, she didn't need someone to cry with. He knew his mother, even when she was sad and strange. And he knew that she needed someone sturdy to settle their shaken and fragile lives. Because there was war going on all around them, and Dad was dead and everything was so very, very different. When everything was how it was, when they could finally notice just where the gaping, jagged hole where Charlus Potter once fit was – then he would cry. He would release all of the tension, sorrow and feelings that had been sitting in his stomach, clogging up his throat, weighing on his heart and pushing at his eyes. When everything was how it should be, James would grieve for how it was not.

He couldn't help but think of him as he sat in his chair. James thought of when he had told his dad about Lily. He had looked straight at James and said, "She has red hair? No problem then. You'll marry that girl one day. It's what we Potters do. Except for your Great Uncle Clifford, of course. But he was barmy."

The thing about Charlus was that everyone believed him. He was a serious man (although he could think up a wicked joke when needed), who had a calm voice and soothing demeanor. If Charlus Potter spoke, people listened, and people believed. When James was young, his father had once told him that every time an owl hooted, you were supposed to bark at it until it hooted back because, obviously, owls and dogs were closely related. So at all times of the night his mother would be awoken by the sound of mysterious barking coming from somewhere in the house. She found out the next morning that it had come from a very disappointed and tired James. When he was asked why he was sniffling so, he had wailed that none of the owls had responded to his woofing.

Blushing fondly at that memory, he moved on to when his father had suggested Sirius had his own room. He had reasoned that since he was there so much they might as well turn one of the guest rooms into a real bedroom for him. Sirius had practically glowed, and James had never been prouder of his father. Sirius had come to their house early that summer, and whenever he was asked about home, he would either shrug, or mutter about how he had to put up with those "ruddy wankers" (if Dorea wasn't around, "ruddy, Slytherin wankers" because Dorea had been in Slytherin, once upon a time) depending on his mood. James knew that things at Grimmauld Place weren't likely to be very good, and it appeared his parents had, too. Charlus had known exactly what to do in that situation, and James had hoped that one day he would be able to make decisions like that one day. Dorea had grinned and dragged Sirius upstairs to customize the closest room to her son's, but not before she had given her husband a long kiss, the boys making gagging noises in the background.

Reminiscing was not helping the struggle against tears, so James tried to stop. He cleared his throat and picked up another pile of parchment. There really wasn't much importance in going through all of them – his will and other important documents had all been kept together in a safe. This was more of something they felt obligated to do. Reading things he had written, and letters he had received. Some of it was very interesting. There were letters and _Daily Prophet_ clippings from way before James was born. They had even found a homework assignment from Charlus' time at Hogwarts. It was a Defense Against the Dark Arts essay that he had written in his sixth year. In red ink, the teacher had scrawled an O and "I would very much appreciate for you to come in next year and help teach this lesson."

Some of it was sad. Letters Dorea had written him while he was away on Auror missions, and when they had first started dated. Quite a few pictures that James had drawn him were in the top draw.

Of course, a lot was very boring. Some receipts from stores in Diagon Alley and forms from his job that he must have shoved in his desk and never pulled out.

James threw himself into the mounds of _everything _that Charlus Potter had deemed necessary to keep. He had just started laughing at a note that Great Uncle Clifford had written when the grandfather clock in the corner made its _ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch _sound. It hadn't always made that sound. When James was at the peak of his actually accidental, accidental magic stage, he'd thrown a tantrum in his father's study. He'd kicked the poor clock and it hadn't sounded the same since. Charlus always said he rather liked it, and so he never fixed it.

Startled by the sound of it, James looked up and was surprised to see that almost two hours had gone by. My, James thought bitterly, how time flies when you're rummaging through your dead father's things.

He knew his mother would have been cross at him if he let her sleep any longer, so he pushed himself out of the comfortable chair. He stretched his stiff joints and rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. James traveled through the house, deciding that her favorite purple couch in one of the rooms downstairs was where she would probably be – and he was right. She was curled up on her side, facing the door. He gave a small, sad smile when he noticed that her hand was gently clutching the locket around her neck – the locket that held a black and white photo of them from years and years ago on one side, and a picture of a young James sitting on a swing on the other.

He kneeled down in front of her, and he hated himself for doing it because she looked so peaceful, he gently shook her shoulder.

"Mum, I'm almost done with everything. Do you want to look at the rest?" he asked, but she didn't answer, just kept on sleeping.

"Mum?"

As suddenly as a curse to the back, red hot panic started to run through James' veins. Breaths coming a bit more ragged than usual, he shook her shoulder again, denial leaving his mouth in long string of no's. He wouldn't let this happen. Not her. She was too important. She was his mum. He wasn't supposed to lose her. He was supposed to fix them. He wasn't supposed to be alone. And as quickly as his panic had come, numbness set in his brain. Mechanically, James stood up and sat in one the armchairs close by.

And he looked. And watched. And he may have cried a little.

And most of all, he tried desperately not to scream. Because his mother was dead. There was no denying that. Dorea had never been a sound sleeper. A few years back, James had stood in the doorway of his parents' room and, in a normal, inside voice, said "The whole house is on fire, your son is burning alive." and she had jumped up, quicker than lightning, grabbed her wand and started shouting 'aquamenti' at everything in her sight.

Now, she did not stir. She just held onto that locket like her life depended on it.

That last thought brought that bloody lump back into his throat.

James choked on it.

For an immeasurable amount of time, James sat in that armchair and wondered, wildly, if she had known. Looking back at their time in the study, James concluded that she must have, with some sort of magic, or just with instincts. For the love of Merlin, his last words to her had been 'sleep well'. She couldn't have planned it any better.

Rather meanly, a little voice in the back of his said, "Your mother is gone," and James cried some more, despite his shock because _what the bloody hell happened? _

His thoughts ran away from him, and the light streaming through the windows eventually stopped, and it was dark. Sirius found him like that, sitting in an armchair, thinking, looking at his mother.

It took Sirius a moment to call out "James?" in a confused voice, but all he got was a confused, heartbroken face in answer. So he called out "Dorea?" next, and he not get _any_ answer. So he understood. And his breath hitched, and he felt, for a moment, like dropping down and crying but he did not. He grabbed James by the shoulders, and gently he led him from room.

"Let's get out of here James."

**A/N: Oh my God, that ending sucks. Er, sorry. I just, don't even know why I would write that. I guess I kinda got impatient and just wrote something. **

**Anyway, yeah a new story. I've had this swimming around my mind for ages. It's just a one-shot, and it's going to stay a one-shot. But I do have a story in mind, even though it's a multi-chapter fic, and I'm not good with those. I'm so sorry to say it, but it's a cliché arranged marriage story, but I can promise you it would be different. It won't be one of those, "Omgz marrying someone I reely h8, lolz jk, love you boo boo. U the luv of mi life!11!1" It'll be James, and he's engaged to someone he doesn't want to be, all the while Lily is falling for him. Ya know, some good ol' fashioned Jily jealousy. I'd love to hear any advice or suggestions for it. By the way, I can explain the whole Great Uncle Clifford thing if anyone is interested. **

**Oh, and yeah, reviews would be jokes. Which means cool. So, er, reviews would be cool. And I don't think I'm going to bother with a disclaimer. JKR has given us permission to write, so I wrote that shit ^. Don't sue me kthanksbye. **

**Thanks for reading! Ciao!**

**Taylor.**

**( Where do we go - Life's temporary- after we're gone? - like New Year's resolutions.) Stockholm Syndrome - Blink-182  
**


End file.
